Demon Spawn
by Draeconin
Summary: A demon is born to wizard kind every few decades. Lilly Potter was so blessed. So was Narcissa Malfoy, but the baby was murdered, and the family cursed. HD Complete
1. Chapter 1

_Demon Spawn_

by Draeconin 

**E-Mail: **draeconin at gmail dot com  
**Rating:** Adult  
**Pairing: **Harry/Draco  
**Spoilers:** Yep.  
**Warnings:** m/m, slash, language, fantasy, OOC  
**Disclaimer:** If you don't recognize it, it's mine. Everything else belongs to the copyright holders.  
**Summary:** Demons walk among us!

**Chapter One**

Harry Potter was dressed in cotton pyjama bottoms that were so old and worn you could almost see through them, and an overlarge undershirt with a few rips from which the neck had torn away. His hair was dishevelled, and the worn, ripped half-blanket he was allowed on his otherwise bare mattress was twined around his legs.

Although asleep, Harry wasn't having a peaceful night. He tossed and turned in his sleep, then started whimpering, as discomfort turned to pain. But even as his pain grew, he didn't awaken. An observer familiar with the visions Harry was cursed with, due to his link with Voldemort, might have been forgiven for thinking the young man was again caught in one of those ghoulish, nightmare-like occurrences.

But Harry wasn't dreaming, and he wasn't having a vision. His face screwed up as his almost instinctive resistance to allowing pain to have vocal outlet kicked in. Sweat beaded his forehead. The pain grew, and then became too much for his unconscious body to resist. Harry started screaming, rousing Vernon Dursley, Harry's uncle, and bringing him out of his bedroom swearing, as he donned his dressing robe. He was followed shortly by his rail thin, horse-faced wife, Petunia.

In seconds they were at the young wizard's padlocked bedroom door; padlocked to keep Harry in, not anyone out. The florid, obese man started pounding on the door, yelling at Harry, whom he called 'the freak', to stop making all that noise! Harry might disturb the neighbours and he, Petunia, and Dudley, their fat, blond, spoiled son (who chose that moment to join his parents, complaining loudly about 'the noise Potter's making') were trying to sleep - not to mention the _other_ 'decent' folk in the neighbourhood, who were also abed.

None of this made the slightest difference to the sweat-soaked young man who was now screaming out his anguish and pain. Unconscious, he couldn't hear them anyway. Harry's body started to rise from his bed. The half-blanket slipped from around his legs, and the worn cloth of his night clothes gave 'way, almost disintegrating, and fell away from him.

Finally Harry's uncle started fumbling with a key in the padlock, intent on beating the boy into submission, and silence. But what greeted the Dursleys' eyes when the door was finally open had them staring, speechless, and then fleeing down the stairway and out the door. A few seconds later, still dressed only in their night clothes and dressing robes, the family fled the neighbourhood in the family car, squealing tires doing more to wake the neighbours than any amount of screaming from the tortured boy hovering almost a metre above his bed with large, Aurora-coloured flames encasing his writhing body, albeit at a distance of a few centimetres.

oo

"Wotcher, Harry!" a very cheerful voice said, as Harry woke.

With his eyes opened only enough to let in a slit of light to allow them to adjust, he started groping for his glasses. That anyone would speak to him here, in the Dursleys' home, was surprising enough. That it was Nymphadora Tonks, his Auror friend and a metamorphmagus, was astounding. The Dursleys hated magic, and hated magic users even more; which was unfortunate, since Harry was a wizard. "Tonks?" he questioned.

"'He's awake, Albus!" she shouted out the door, not bothering to go to it first.

"Here ya are, luv," that same cheerful voice said, handing him the self-same items he'd been looking for. "And happy birthday!"

Harry slipped his glasses on and sat up, his half-blanket slipping down to his waist, and opened his eyes to look at Tonks. (She hated her first name, since people had the unfortunate habit of shortening it to 'Nymph', or 'Nympho', or tease her by calling her 'Nymphomaniac'.) But Harry found that, if anything, his sight was worse. "Hello, Tonks," he said, as he took his spectacles off to clean them. "What are you doing here? And Dumbledore is here, too? Did something happen last night?" Since the house was rather peaceful, and Tonks was sounding cheerful and relaxed, there wasn't likely anything happening now, so he wasn't worried.

For Harry, at the Dursleys', his birthday was just one more day, only different in that _he_ saw it as something special. It was a marker commemorating the fact that it was one less year before he'd be able to escape this place. Only one more year to go. Then he'd be seventeen, and free. There'd been one howler of a storm just before he'd gone to bed, so while he'd been disappointed, he wasn't entirely surprised when no owls had shown up with birthday wishes and gifts. So Tonks' birthday greeting, while welcome, was somewhat anticlimactic - the reason for his overlooking it.

"You could say that, yes," the Auror replied. "Your wards went off screamin', but when we got here, all we could find was you, sleepin' the sleep of the dead. Any idea where that idiot Muggle family of yours might be?"

During this short speech, Harry had made an amazing discovery. Everything within view was in sharp detail. He slipped his glasses back on. Fuzzy as two weeks' worth of laundry lint. He took them off. His sight was as sharp and as clear as glass.

Harry shook his head absent-mindedly in answer to the metamorphmagus' question, and peered at his glasses. He rather thought he should be worried about the family who housed him, especially since Petunia was supposedly his mother's sister, but he couldn't bring himself to be arsed. They had long ago voided any right to his affections, or his caring.

"Something wrong with your glasses, Harry?" Tonks asked, watching him with a rather strange, teasing smile on her face.

"I dunno," the young man replied, still distracted, then returned to the previous question. "I didn't notice anything last night. Slept like a top. Mustn't have moved, much. I'm quite stiff."

Tonks started snorting in laughter.

Harry blushed violently. "Not in _that_ way, Tonks!" he protested.

"You're sure, Harry?" she teased, that rather strange expression still on her face.

"Yes!" Harry asserted. "So what have you found out?" he asked, in an attempt to steer the conversation onto less embarrassing pathways. He meant, of course, that he would like to know what she and, he assumed from her use of the word 'we', the others had discovered since their arrival, but the young Auror decided to misinterpret the words.

She started snickering again.

"Tonks!" Harry exclaimed, mortified. "Mind in the gutter," he muttered quietly, as he placed his glasses on the bed table. He had no idea why his sight had corrected itself overnight, but strange things always seemed to be happening to him, and he wasn't about to look a gift horse in the mouth.

"Harry?" Professor Dumbledore inquired from the doorway, "How are you feeling?"

"Just a bit put-upon at the moment, Professor," Harry said, with a mock glare at the young woman sitting close by. She grinned back unrepentantly. He turned his attention back to the old man. "So what happened to get you all here? Tonks said the wards sounded an alarum, but nothing was found out of place - except for my unlamentedly miss-"

He was interrupted by a stentorian yell. "What the bloody hell are all you freaks doing in my home?"

"Well, it looks as though they're not missing any longer," Harry remarked darkly.

"I want all you dress wearing freaks out of my house!"

Harry flinched. Although he didn't particularly care if his uncle were hexed for the rest of his life, he could imagine the reaction the man was getting to that last pronouncement. 'Dress wearing freaks'? Oh, my. Harry grinned, hoping Vernon Dursley would be set right, the hard way.

"If you'll excuse me, Harry, Miss Tonks, perhaps these folk have an idea of what happened last night," the headmaster of Hogwarts stated, and headed off.

"Look, if the boy's a pile of ashes, it wasn't any of _my_ doing. He was burning when we-" The words, which, although less in volume than previously, had still been clearly audible, were suddenly cut off. A silencing spell to prevent anyone unauthorised - ie: Muggles - from overhearing the man, Harry guessed. But it was the last words he'd overheard that captured his attention.

Harry groaned to himself. He'd been on _fire_? So why wasn't he burned? As surreptitiously as possible, Harry started to look himself over, just to make sure he _hadn't_ been burned, although he wasn't in that kind of pain. He didn't find any burns, but he noticed right away his state of dress. He was nude, and only partially covered with his blanket. With a yelp, he grabbed the only covering he had, and dove under it, his face blazing.

"Damn it, Tonks," Harry yelled, mortified, "why didn't you tell me I was starkers? And how in Niffleheim did I get that way?"

The Auror was having a great deal of difficulty not bursting into loud, pealing laughter, but she couldn't hide her ear-to-ear grin. "Found ya that way, Harry," she giggled. "Must say, you've grown up well!"

"Stop perving on me!" Harry ordered. If he could have without exposing other parts of his body, Harry would have been hiding completely beneath the blanket, but it wasn't big enough for that. He waited for her sense of decency to kick in so she'd leave and he could get dressed. But it didn't happen. "Could I get up, please?" Harry hinted, broadly.

"Any time, Harry," she answered, cheerfully. Harry could see a mischievous light in her eyes. "Been wondering why you were lying abed so long. Thought maybe you were feeling poorly."

"Do you _need_ to be in the room?" Harry asked, pointedly.

"Ol' long-beard's orders," she affirmed, grinning.

"Well, at least turn around!" he said, desperately.

Giving Harry a broad wink, she got up, turned her chair around, and sat back down. "Better?" she asked, laughter in her voice.

"It would be better if you'd leave, so I could get dressed!" Harry answered, somewhat petulantly. "But if you won't, then yes - that's better."

Watching Tonks' back warily, Harry satisfied his curiosity. In that brief glimpse he'd had before he realised he was less than decently clad, he'd seen some intriguing changes to his body. No one else would likely have known the difference, since few ever saw his body, but _he_ noticed. His slightly scrawny, but wiry body had now filled out quite nicely with muscle. And not just any muscle; quite hard - in fact almost rock hard muscle, although it wasn't sharply defined. Blushing, he wondered where his night clothes had gone off to. Then he noticed his fingernails. He'd been in the bad habit of chewing them when he was hard at thought, but now they looked perfectly manicured, if a bit long, and with an opalescent sheen to them.

Something tickled him. It had done so several times as he'd moved about, but he'd been too caught up in other things to pay it much mind, and had dismissed it as a minor irritant whilst he explored what he could of his body without causing himself undue embarrassment, even with Tonks' back turned. She was seated just a metre or so away, and her hearing was quite sharp. But now he became annoyed enough with it to grab it and try to bring it around to see what it was. It hurt. He yelped, and took a closer look. It was hair. His hair, evidently, since it had hurt his scalp when he grabbed it. But it was _long!_ His uncle had never let him have his hair long. When it got too long for the fat bastard's liking, it got hacked off. But now it came to just below his shoulders. And instead of the dark brown-black it had been, it was now a true black that almost shone. No... It _did_ shine! But shining black?

"Bit of a puzzler, that; isn't it, Harry?" Tonks remarked, watching Harry 'playing' with his suddenly long hair.

Harry just nodded, a bit dazed. "What's causing it to shine like that?" he asked.

"Just good, healthy hair, _I'd_ guess," she said, "although it moving about like that is enough to give one the golly-wobbles."

She couldn't see the black light coming off of it, Harry realised. "Hey!" He exclaimed, looking up. Tonks had grown an eye in the back of her head, and had been watching him. "Stop that!" he ordered, curling up under his only cover.

"Stop what, Harry?" Tonks asked in mock innocence. "I've my back to you, just as you asked."

"Stop perving on me!"

"Haven't a clue what you're talking about, Harry," she replied. He could hear the smirk in her voice.

"Fine!" Harry grumped, and just to illustrate his irritation, he did a little laying-down jump, and let himself slam back into his bed - which promptly collapsed. It had been in fairly poor condition to begin with, due to the abuse it had taken as Dudley's bed before the obese boy had been given a new one, but Harry hadn't thought it to be _that_ badly gone.

Tonks started laughing just as footsteps were heard pounding quickly up the stairs. Professor Snape burst in, wand at the ready, and with a personal shield already in place. When he saw no danger, he relaxed, released the magical shield, and lowered his wand, glaring at Harry sitting propped up on the mattress of the broken bed.

"What in the nine hells have you done now, boy?" the potions master asked, each word evenly spaced, to emphasise them.

"I rather thought that should be obvious, Professor," Harry grated out. "My bed broke."

"And what did you-" He stopped mid-sentence and reconsidered his words. "No. I don't wish to know." The man turned to go back downstairs.

"Professor," Harry said urgently, "would you mind relieving Tonks while I dress?"

"Yes, I would, Mr. Potter," Snape said, tightly. "I am needed downstairs. I should hope that you were capable of dressing yourself!"

Harry's eyes narrowed and his face tightened, as he fought for control. "Yes. I am. But Tonks refuses to leave the room," he countered.

"And your point is?" the greasy-haired man replied, superciliously.

Tonks had turned sidewise in the chair when Harry's bed had broken, and was sitting and grinning at the both of them, enjoying the byplay.

"What would _you_ do in a similar situation, Professor?" Harry asked grimly, glaring at 'the greasy git'.

Snape glared back at him, then without breaking eye contact with the annoying boy, said "Miss Tonks, if you wouldn't mind awaiting us in the hall for the space of a couple of minutes?" He despised doing anything for the son of the man he'd hated, but he couldn't abide laziness, and the boy had a point; it would be the height of bad manners to make the lad suffer immodesty. He, himself, would have hexed the woman out of the room if she had refused to allow him to dress in privacy.

"Be happy to!" the Auror announced, and almost skipped out of the room.

Snape glared after her, then turned his attention back to Harry. "Well? What are you waiting for?"

Harry would have preferred to shower first, as he was feeling distinctly gritty, but circumstances being what they were, he put a brave face on it and quickly had a set of his cousin's discarded old clothes on. They were faded and baggy, as well as being stretched out of shape from his cousin's obesity. A worn and frayed belt was all that kept the trousers up.

Snape, who had seated himself in the emptied chair as he impatiently waited, sneered at the ensemble, but didn't say anything. Still, Harry felt the need to defend himself. "It's all they allow me," he growled.

The professor looked a bit shocked at that statement, but again, didn't comment. At least, not about the clothes. "Seems they're feeding you well enough..."

Harry shot him a look. "I didn't look like this, yesterday. I barely get scraps."

"Don't be telling me tales, Potter," the man sneered.

"Mr. Potter rarely lies, Severus," came Dumbledore's voice from the doorway.

Even Harry cast a dubious look at the headmaster for that one. True, he didn't make a habit of lying, but he wasn't above it, either. He rather wished he _had_ been spinning tales just now. Unfortunately, it was all true. "If you'll excuse me, please?" he said, and quickly made his way to the toilet, his full bladder demanding speed.

"So what tale are you supposed to have fabricated, Mr. Potter?" Dumbledore inquired, upon Harry's return.

Harry was feeling at least a little bit better, having washed his face and hands, and quickly running a wet washcloth over his chest and arms while in the toilet.

"He claims to have gained weight overnight," Snape accused, his voice deriding.

The headmaster turned to Harry, his eyebrows rising in mild surprise. "Oh? Can you estimate how much?"

"At least a stone," Harry replied, hesitantly, "perhaps two?"

Snape had been eyeing Dumbledore, privately amazed that the man was naive enough to listen to this brat. He snorted in disbelief at Harry's statement. Although...

Dumbledore drew near to Harry. "May I feel of your arm, Mr. Potter?"

Harry wasn't comfortable with people touching him, although he usually got along well with them otherwise - if they weren't trying to kill him or deliberately provoke him - but he nodded his head.

Dumbledore did so, feeling of the deltas, the biceps, and the muscles of Harry's forearm, then stepped back, his eyes hooded, the normal twinkle in them dimmed almost to non-existence. After hearing what Vernon Dursley had to say just before he came up to check on the young man, seeing the physical changes, noting Harry's lack of glasses, and now the preternatural denseness of his muscles, he had come to a rather unsettling conclusion. He would have to see if he could provoke the final proof, however. "It seems," he said reluctantly, "that Mr. Potter, here, is much more than we had suspected."

Professor Snape looked at the boy. At five foot nine, the teenager didn't look all that prepossessing. "How?" he asked, flatly.

"Harry, you might want to sit down," the headmaster said.

Harry looked around. Other than the chair Snape was occupying and the broken bed, there was nowhere else to sit. "Where?"

"Ah. Well, it's just one of those things you're supposed to say when you've bad news to deliver," the old man replied.

Harry paled. "Am I going to die?"

Dumbledore nodded. "Oh, yes, my boy. We all die, eventually. But hopefully that event is far in the future, for you."

Harry was immediately frustrated, and wanted to tell the headmaster to get to the point, but kept a tight rein on his temper. "So if I'm not going to die, what _is_ wrong?"

"No, no, lad. I wouldn't say there was anything wrong, it's just-"

"Will you bloody well spit it out, already?" Harry yelled. At the same time, there was a funny feeling in his back. His shirt grew tight momentarily, and then there was the sound of ripping cloth. But he was too busy fighting down his sudden, almost overwhelming desire to throttle the old man to pay much attention. He even subconsciously shifted his weight to keep his balance.

Snape was staring, eyes wide and lips thinned even more than usual, but Dumbledore only nodded, his theory proven out - the reason for his 'bumbling' speech. "It would seem, Mr. Potter, that you're a demon spawn."

Now it was Harry's turn to gape - at the headmaster. "You must be having me on," he said. "I'm not a demon anything, let alone a...spawn? What's that supposed to be?" Harry knew that spawn was a reference to offspring, but he also knew that in the wizarding world words were often applied to things that had little to nothing to do with their usual usage. And since he knew who his parents were, it must be the latter type of usage to which Dumbledore was applying the word. And again, since he knew who his parents were, he couldn't be whatever it was.

The headmaster didn't reply to Harry's denial. He took out his wand, turned to the blank inner wall of Harry's room, and said a quick incantation. The wall became a large plane of highly polished silver, making a very effective mirror.

Harry gasped. If it weren't for Dudley's ratty cast-offs, he wouldn't, at first, have recognised himself - because the first thing that grabbed your attention was the wings. Large, bat-like wings of the same base colour as his own skin, but shimmering with all the colours of the Aurora borealis; blues, reds, purples, silver, and gold all gently competing in ever-changing waves across the planes of tough skin that comprised them. The purples seemed to be predominant most of the time, but all of the colours made their presence known.

Next to the terrible clothes, his hair and eyes were the next to catch the attention. He mentally censored the black light coming off his gently swaying hair in waves, trying to see what the other people in the room were seeing. His eyes practically leapt off his face, his hair acting as a frame that set his face and eyes off almost perfectly. They were the same colour they'd always been, but seemed to be slightly larger, now. But there was something wrong with the pupils... They weren't round. They were slit - almost, but not quite, like a cat's. He leant in for a closer look.

"I think you will find that you can now see in a wider range of light, Mr. Potter. Of course you will have noticed that you no longer need your glasses. Minor physical disabilities and ailments are reported to disappear - healed or corrected - during the change," Professor Dumbledore lectured. "Your wings, besides being used in flight, are capable of protecting you from most spells. Do you see a wavy blackness around your head?"

Harry nodded warily, and continued to inspect his reflection as the headmaster continued his monologue. His features hadn't changed all that much. They'd become a bit more refined; the long lashes around his eyes had become thicker and darker, but not any longer. His nose was a tad more aquiline, and his lips were more full, and a shade warmer in colour.

"Your hair absorbs energy; sunlight, magic... Every form of energy except heat. At your age, I imagine you were just starting to note the beginnings of a beard?"

Again, Harry nodded. His 'beard' had been just a trace of fuzz, really. He had been proud of this evidence of his manhood, even if the fuzz itself had more or less made his face look like it had smudged dirt on it. His face now, while not lean, had lost some of the 'baby fat'. His round face had been an anomaly, considering the almost gaunt condition the rest of his body had been in. His shoulders were broader, and his chest deeper. That made sense. Wider shoulders for the muscles needed for the wings; deeper chest to allow more air for oxygen...

"You'll never have to worry about removing it, if you're anything like the others. It will never grow, now. Nor will you get any more body hair than you already have."

"What?" Harry yelped. Half-panicked, Harry checked under his arms, afraid to find that his body might now be bald, only to find that yes, that hair was still there. He had already seen, earlier, when he was checking for burns, and then later, in the toilet, that his groin hair was present. Looking at his forearms, he saw... He saw in the mirror that Tonks had re-entered the room without his noticing, and was quietly laughing at him. Dumbledore was smiling widely, and even Snape didn't look as dour as usual.

"Alright, you hyenas," he said, dryly, "go ahead and laugh. What would _you_ do if you found yourself looking so totally different than usual?"

"I don't believe I would be worrying about my body hair, Potter," Snape said, wryly.

Tonks fell down, laughing wildly, now; and Dumbledore was chuckling heartily.

Harry snorted, then turned back to the mirror. Snape and Dumbledore had obviously forgotten how important it was to a teenager to develop the outward signs of manhood. Well, his was intact, and that's what was important. Well, one of the things that was important, he thought to himself, as he again looked at the whole of him in the mirror. So his hair wasn't really giving off black light; it was absorbing energy.

The wings again caught his attention. They were beautiful, but having them at Hogwarts could become troublesome. "Are the wings permanent?" Harry asked.

"Really, Potter; can you be any more vague? If you mean 'are the wings always out', then the answer is 'no'," Snape answered with a sneer, "but you _will_ always have them."

Harry nodded, letting the attitude slide past him. "How do I, ah...put them away?" Then he frowned. How could he have overlooked such an important question? It should have been the first out of his mouth, and yet... He had felt so comfortable and natural, that it had entirely slipped his attention. He frowned. As had being nude. How could he not have noticed?

"Imagine them-"

"How did I become one of these things, anyway?" Harry asked suddenly, interrupting. "Which one of my parents was one of these 'spawn'?"

There was a short silence, then the headmaster answered. "Neither."

Harry spun about to face the three adults. "What?" he barked out. "But then how...?" He was at a loss for words, and counted on these people to understand the question. They did.

"Demons are energy beings, Mr. Potter," Dumbledore replied, conjuring four chairs, a table, and some refreshments. He gestured for them all to join him as he sat down. "But quite brilliant, for all that. Every few years one will take it into his mind to have a semi-mortal child. We're not quite sure why they do this, as they never seem to stay around to see or interact with the offspring they create."

Harry was quite hungry, but nothing on the table appealed to him. He was drinking tea, with quite a lot of milk and sugar. But with this information he started getting angry. "So you're saying that one of them raped my mother?"

"Oh, really, Potter!" Snape said, in disgust. "Which part of 'energy being' did you not understand?"

"Professor Snape is quite correct, Harry," the headmaster said, gently. "They are incapable of rape, or even consensual intercourse with material beings."

"But what of incubi?" Harry asked.

"Non-consensual, but only technically rape, and that is only one specialized sub-species of demon out of many," Tonks explained. "They, and succubi, are only semi-solid. Most of what a victim experiences is what is suggested to him or her in their semi-somnolent state by the succubi or incubi, aided by the faint physical sensations those demons are capable of giving."

She looked around in the ensuing silence. "What? I'm not allowed to know anything?" she asked defensively, at the looks the others were giving her.

Harry flashed a quick grin at her, then turned back to the headmaster. "Then...how?"

"You would have had to already been in your mother's womb. The demon would have altered you or your magic core then; probably quite early in your mother's pregnancy, possibly before she was aware she was pregnant, and most probably without her knowledge. If not caught beforehand, such children come into their 'inheritance' on, or shortly after, their sixteenth birthday."

"How many have been caught beforehand?" Harry asked.

"Only one," Dumbledore replied, sadness in his eyes.

"Did they cure him? Or was it a girl?"

"It was a girl, Mr. Potter. And in a way, I suppose she was 'cured'. She was killed, just after she was born. You see, someone saw the demon leave her mother's body."

"Who?"

"Her father."

"Who?" Harry asked again, but it was a different question, and he wasn't sure he wanted to know the answer.

"Lucius Malfoy. The girl would have been Draco Malfoy's little sister."

"I heard a strange rumour, once," Tonks said, slowly, "that when that happened, the son had been cursed by the girl's demon father."

oo

A 'stone' is approximately equal to fourteen pounds. 

oo

Your opinion? Home Chapter Two 


	2. Chapter 2

_Demon Spawn_

by Draeconin 

See chapter one for disclaimer and details.

**Chapter Two**

"Really?" Harry said, cheering up a little. "Draco has a curse on him?" he said, unknowingly using the blond's given name.

"Really, Miss Tonks!" Snape snorted disdainfully. "Back fence gossip, now?"

Dumbledore was looking at Harry thoughtfully.

"Do you know what the curse was?" Harry asked the Auror, ignoring the dour potions master.

"It _was_ just a rumour, Harry," Tonks cautioned, with a sour look at Snape, "but it was said that since the demon didn't get its' child, that no more children would be born to the Malfoys, and the son was fated to marry a demon spawn."

All at once, Harry felt cold "H-how many demon spawn are there, now?" he asked, with trepidation.

"Seven," Dumbledore replied.

Harry breathed a little easier. He mightn't be the one on the line, this time.

Harry's relief was short-lived, however, as Dumbledore reluctantly continued. "But the other six have already found their mates."

Harry blanched. "But it was just a rumour, right? Gossip?" But Harry had a sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach. Somehow or other, the fates had slipped yet another joker into the card deck of his life.

"Most likely," the old man replied, but he didn't look as though he believed Harry could be that lucky.

"You won't be able to stay here now, of course," Dumbledore said gently.

Harry looked at him, face pale, but, "You say that as though it were bad news!"

"Isn't it?" the old man questioned, looking wise.

Harry raised an eyebrow at him, angry disbelief quickly replacing his misgivings about Draco - for now. "Were you a Hufflepuff? A Gryffindor? Where has your mind been all these years while I've been telling you how bad it was, here?"

Dumbledore's face flushed with anger. "All young people think they have it bad at home; that their parents abuse them," he protested. "And may I remind you that _you_ are a Gryffindor?"

"Look around you," Harry suggested, ignoring the man's last point. "Does this _look_ as though I were exaggerating? If you'd been here yesterday, I could have shown you my ribs. And you heard my 'loving' uncle, downstairs. Lovely, loving attitude there, wasn't it?"

The old man's face paled as he realised he 'may have' misjudged the situation. "Pack," was all he said.

Since Harry practically lived out of his trunk anyway, it didn't take him long to pack away the few things he'd left out. Turning, his reflection caught his eye once more. Now that the initial shock was over, he could look at himself with a little more objectivity. If Harry ignored his wings, he thought he could be taken to be no more than a remarkably handsome, almost pretty, wizard. But still quite masculine of course, he reminded himself.

oo

At Malfoy Manor, Draco wasn't having an easy time of it, either. He had got so bored that he'd broken down and started talking to the portraits. No, he hadn't gone mad. They were magical portraits. The people in the paintings moved, talked, and, of course, heard everything that went on around them. They had the memories of the people they portrayed up until the time the portrait was finished, and everything that happened to and around the portrait since.

So while Draco normally thought that talking to 'mere portraits' was beneath him, he'd finally run out of things to do to distract him from the monotony of Malfoy Manor during the summer, and had decided that talking to paintings was better than slitting his wrists to get a different point of view on life. So far he'd talked to the ones in the halls, the ballroom, the dining room, the conservatory, and various sitting rooms. Fairly boring, so far. None of them seemed to have done much of interest while they were alive, or seen anything worth reporting, afterward. Of course there were a few rooms where Draco absolutely knew interesting things had happened, such as his father's study, where the man would have had meetings with other Death Eaters before he'd been sent to Azkaban, but Draco didn't want to know the details of those.

His mother's bedroom, on the other hand... Well, he _was_ an almost-sixteen-year-old, after all. And while females didn't hold a whole lot of interest for him, sex did. All right, so hearing about his mother's sexual exploits may be a little pervy (all right; a _lot_ pervy), but there wasn't anyone else' exploits to hear about in the house except his father's, and considering his own area of sexual interest, he thought that might be worse. Not to mention that he'd overheard snippets of conversation at the infrequent balls and parties his parents hosted that hinted of his father doing things that he'd _much_ rather remain disturbing rumours rather than horrifyingly confirmed facts. Fortunately his mother was on a shopping tour of all the best places in Europe, so he had plenty of time to sit and listen to the lurid gossip.

"...and then there was this time this _gorgeous_ leftenant visited your grandmother! That was in 1939, I think; or was it 1941? Well, no matter. He had short black hair, and the most beautiful bedroom eyes you've ever seen. Well, this _is_ a bedroom, isn't it? And his buttocks? Oh, my! Anyway..."

Eventually Draco asked about his mother and father's exploits in the room. The reaction shocked him, as 'Aunt Dorcas' ("plus four 'greats', but don't you _dare_ use them, my boy,") went off on a rant the likes of which he'd only heard from his father. But what shocked him was the story of how his mother had been pregnant, and his father had suddenly become very cold towards his wife, and killed the baby girl after she was born. "So she was demon spawn! That doesn't mean she wasn't a Malfoy. How does your father think we became so powerful? It's just a good thing he's in Azkaban, I tell you. You notice he doesn't..."

Draco tuned her out, his shocked mind fixated on one thought. He'd had a little sister. And his father had killed her. He wandered out of the room, not really seeing where he was going - he just needed to get away. He wound up in the Rose garden. (No, it wasn't a garden filled with roses. It was actually a fairly good representation of a Japanese tranquility garden, that had been ordered by Rosalita Rose Malfoy, well over a hundred years previous. The house elves kept it up.) A sister. Infanticide. But family was supposed to be so important! His father had drilled it into him over and over again. But his father had killed his sister.

It was over an hour later, as Aunt Dorcas' words were running through his head for what might have been the hundredth time, that another phrase caught his attention: 'demon spawn'. Determinedly, he set off back to his mother's room, and Aunt Dorcas.

"Just what are they teaching you children these days? Have they forgotten everything? Does tradition mean noth-"

"Aunt Dorcas!" Draco exclaimed intensely, interrupting the painting's ranting and gaining her attention. "Concentrate, please. Demon spawn? You said my little sister was one. What are they?" It galled him to be polite to a _painting_, but he'd learned over the past few days that if you treated them as the objects they were, they had a tendency to become rude or uncommunicative.

"Well! There's no need to be rude!"

Draco blinked. _He'd_ been rude? _She_ was the one who had gone off on a rant instead of answering his question. And hadn't he said 'please'? That was something that rarely came out of his mouth. She should feel honoured! But...all right. "I'm sorry, Aunt Dorcas. It won't happen again. But what are demon spawn?"

"Rude children, these days... Not taught respect for their elders..."

"Aunt Dorcas? I'd really like to know why my father felt he had to kill my sister," Draco said, trying again.

The painting sighed. "I suppose you have the right, and it's an ironbound fact Lucius wouldn't tell you, even if he were here. But he's where he should have been years ago."

"Aunt Dorcas," Draco began, since it seemed she was again about to go off on a tangent.

"I'm getting there, boy! Keep your knickers on!"

Draco paled, then blushed lightly. How had she known he was wearing knickers, instead of pants?

She then went on to explain exactly what demon spawn were. "But our line has had more than one demon spawn in it. And the children they sired or bore have made this family quite strong. But he had to get a jealous streak, and look what that brought on!"

"How did he know, anyway?" Draco asked.

"Oh, I think he found a spell, or invented a spell, or something, that was able to detect it in her magic core."

"She didn't look like a demon?"

"Oh, gods, no, child," the portrait said, laughing. "Demon spawn look perfectly normal until they come into their inheritance."

"And that would be...?"

"Oh, somewhere around their sixteenth birthday, give or take a few weeks. Depends on the child, really."

"Are they quite ugly, then?"

"My word, my boy. You really _are_ ignorant, aren't you?"

Draco grit his teeth. "As you say; my parents never talked of them, and if we're to be taught in lessons, it hasn't happened, yet."

"Yes, well, most demons are really rather fetching. Incubi and succubi, notably, but also the demons of fire, air and water. Earth demons... Well, they're not to _my_ taste, anyway. The more rare types are even more beautiful."

Something 'Aunt Dorcas' had said was preying on Draco's mind. "Um..."

"Oh, please! You're a Malfoy, boy! Don't dither!"

Draco reacted to that tone automatically, as he was quite used to hearing it from his parents; sitting up straight, slipping on 'the Malfoy mask', and he almost snapped out a 'No, ma'am', before he caught himself, and scowled. But instead of lashing out, which would have been counterproductive, he asked the question he was going to ask in the first place. "You intimated that there were consequences to my father killing the girl?"

"Oh, yes. Well, that's why you were the last child in the family, isn't it? Narcissa was quite capable and willing to have more, but the demon cursed the family. Its child was killed, so there were to be no more Malfoy children. But you..." She broke off, looking at Draco dubiously. "Well, you may not think it so lucky, but the fate was put upon you to marry a demon spawn."

Draco's spine went rigid, and his eyes wide. "**What!**" he exclaimed, loudly.

"Well, you'll get the chance to have children, won't you?" She frowned. "If it's a she, that is."

"It had...!" Draco began, indignantly, then stopped himself. He had almost let his secret slip. As loquacious as this portrait was, she'd tell his mother within a half-hour of her return to the manor. He started again. "It had best not be true," he almost hissed.

Aunt Dorcas gave him a rather jaundiced look. "I suggest you go to the library and read up on demon spawn, so if it happens that it _is_ true, you'll know what you're dealing with.

"I will never marry," Draco declared, in a low, threatening voice.

"Even so," was the portrait's response.

Draco stalked off, his training the only thing keeping him from hexing everything within sight, or stomping out his anger with every step.

But as angry as Draco was, he knew he couldn't fight a curse without information. However, first things first. It had been a long time since breakfast. "Mograt!" he called.

The house elf popped to her master's side, her smile quickly lost as she saw the young man's mood. "Master called?" she inquired, eyes downcast.

"Lunch. Fruit. Asparagus salad. Salmon almandine. Raspberry sorbet. Peach champagne. Ten minutes," Draco barked out.

"Yes, master," the elf squeaked, bowing, and popped out.

After eating, Draco felt better able to handle the task. Hermione could have told him that low blood sugar makes anyone more prone to irritability and other negative emotions; and he had been more than a little irritable, prior to eating. But if Hermione would have had the temerity to tell him any such thing, Draco would have likely hexed her bald.

Draco retired to the library and proceeded to look up demons, and demon spawn. Two hours later, he gave up. There wasn't a single book on the subject in the entire Malfoy library, which was unusual. Anything to do with magic or Dark creatures would be a staple in their library - even books that were forbidden to the public. So why, of all... He stopped his musings as realisation hit. He was being stupid. It was true. All of it. Aunt Dorcas hadn't been relaying malicious gossip, but historical truth. He'd more or less believed it at the time, but there had been a niggling doubt. Now, he no longer doubted. The books would still be in the house somewhere, of course. Nothing of possible future use would be thrown away, even if it were distasteful; only put out of sight.

oo

Harry sent Hedwig, his pure white Snow Owl, ahead to Hogwarts. She rarely got much use carrying mail or messages, so the exercise would do her good. Harry's trunk was shrunk, along with his broom and Hedwig's cage, and he stowed them in a pocket.

As they were preparing to leave Harry's room, Professor Dumbledore raised his wand to the polished silver wall.

Correctly inferring that the professor was about to transform it back to its original state, Harry asked a quick question. "If you left it, Professor, how long would it last?"

The old man raised an eyebrow at his charge, but replied. "About eighteen to twenty-four hours. I didn't put enough energy into it to make it permanent."

Harry grinned. It was as he'd hoped. "May I ask you to leave it, then?"

"Revenge, Harry?" the headmaster asked, inferring the young man's intention.

Snape raised an eyebrow, intrigued. Tonks grinned approvingly.

"If you'd like, we can tell him it won't last, but I'd rather simply tell him to stay out of the room for twenty-four hours. Should Uncle Vernons' greed get the better of him, it would be his own fault, wouldn't it?" Harry said, grinning.

"That's very...Slytherin of you, Potter," Snape said, almost approvingly.

Dumbledore's eyes were twinkling madly, but "And should he manage to sell some of it, first?"

Harry's shoulders sagged a bit, but his mind was working rapidly. "Could you add a 'finite' to the wards, so any active spell will end upon exiting the house?" Harry asked.

Dumbledore's mouth curved in a slight smile. "I think that might be arranged, yes; right after you've gone."

Harry grinned widely, and turned to go out the door. As he did so, he caught sight of his wings. "Oh! I'm sorry, I interrupted before I could be told how to vanish my wings!" he remarked to the small group.

"If you'll excuse me?" Snape inserted, and made for the stairs.

Harry watched him go with a sense of relief. He may have made points with the man today, but that did not confer comfort in his presence.

"Ah, yes. About that..." Dumbledore dithered. "If I recall what I read of it correctly - it's been some years, you understand - you merely imagine them gone. But it may not be as easy as it might sound. You may wish to envision them folding away into your back, or another, similar action. When you want or need them, they will again 'unfold'. Instinct, you know."

"Are you intimating that I'm some sort of animal?" Harry asked tensely, ready to get angry, if that's what was called for.

"No more than are we all, Mr. Potter," the headmaster replied cheerfully.

Harry eyed the man suspiciously, but let it rest. He didn't want to leave the house, or arrive anywhere else, with his wings still extended, so he needed to concentrate on that. After about twenty minutes he succeeded in 'putting away' his wings. It was actually more in the way of reabsorbing them. For the next twenty minutes after, he practised extruding his wings, then reabsorbing them. Dumbledore had been right. It wasn't all that easy to make his wings go away; especially at first. Extruding them, on the other hand, was a breeze. He managed it twice in those twenty minutes, but there'd be more time to practice, later. He still needed more practise for true ease, but it would do, for now.

Professor Dumbledore had wandered away downstairs early on, so when Harry finally decided he was ready to join everyone else downstairs, Tonks mentioned that he might wish to don another shirt. "That one's got great bleedin' holes in back, Harry."

Harry blushed. Of course it would have. He'd put his wings through it; the first time instinctively when he'd got so frustrated with the headmaster, and then repeatedly while practising. But while he went to get another shirt (from Dudley's closet, since his own or rather, Dudley's cast-offs were packed away in a shrunken trunk), he didn't put it on. He'd had yet another wicked idea.

"What are you up to, Harry?" Tonks asked when she saw him still wearing the ripped shirt, and carrying the other.

"I wanted to reassure my belovéd family that I suffered no ill effects, and show them my birthday gift," Harry said, innocently.

"Birthday...? Harry, you rapscallion!" Tonks exclaimed, grinning, as she caught on. She didn't mind if _these_ Muggles were given a bit of a scare, knowing the conditions Harry lived under with them.

Just before they got to the kitchen, the room where the Aurors were questioning the Dursleys, Harry extended his wings from his back, and walked in. Not the wisest thing he could have done. He'd meant, of course, to scare his 'dear' relatives out of their wits, but when he found half a dozen wands pointing at him, and at least two curses thrown (two more half-spoken before they were aborted), he was quite shocked. He was also shocked when his wings wrapped around him, and those same wings repelled the curses, causing a few people in the room to have to jump or duck to avoid them.

"Well, that was a fine display," Snape said sneeringly. But for once, he wasn't sneering at Harry. "Did none of you listen when I told you _not_ to hex Mr. Potter when he came down?"

"That's a demon spawn!" one man, unknown to Harry, replied.

"Very good, Prentis," Snape said sarcastically. "So why did you cast a vampyre-specific spell at him? Demon spawn are rarely dangerous."

"It was the wings, wasn't it?" the man said, defensively.

Snape sneered. "Oh, yes. Black as night, aren't they?" he said, his voice dripping with disdain.

"You could have said, Severus," Molly Weasley said in reprimand from the floor, where she'd dived to avoid a rebounded spell. "I just barely recognised him, myself!"

Heaving herself off the floor, she addressed Harry. "Are you all right, dear?"

"Y-yes, Mrs. Weasley," Harry replied, still a bit shaken.

"Harry..." Molly said warningly, even as she took in the changes in 'her boy'. "What did I tell you last?"

Harry grinned abashedly, despite his shock. "Yes, Mum," he said.

Almost everyone else was staring at the demon spawn, who just happened to be their own Harry Potter. Even the Dursleys were staring, albeit with terrified horror, rather than wonder.

"I believe, Mr. Moody, that you still had a question or two for young Mr. Dursley, here?" Professor Dumbledore said mildly, of the fat blond boy sitting in a straight-backed kitchen chair. 'Most everyone pretended not to notice the yellow puddle now under the chair, but someone among them had the presence of mind to charm it away.

oo

Draco finally found the books he'd been looking for in a secret (to everyone but family) stash under the floor of his father's study. Casting a revealing charm on them to make sure there weren't any nasty surprises attached to the books, he then cast a quick cleansing charm on them to rid them of dust, and took them up to his room, floating them along behind him.

After he had gone through the books and learned all but the most insignificant details about demon spawn, he closed the cover on the last book, looked up, and just stared into space, letting it all settle in. He noted that there were quite a few candles lit. Candles that he had not noticed being brought in. Looking around at his window, he was only mildly surprised to find that it was now evening.

"Would Master Draco like a meal?" came the squeaky voice of a house elf.

Draco looked around to the elf, and just stared at it for a few moments as the words it had spoken made their way through the maelstrom of his thoughts, until they registered. "Yes," he decided. "Whatever you think I'd like."

The house elf's eyes widened. Master Draco had always had very specific directions for his meals. "Yes sir, Master Draco."

"Thank you, Lorly."

Lorly's mouth dropped open. Master Draco had _thanked_ Lorly! "Is... Is Master Draco feeling unwell?" the elf ventured, timidly.

Draco frowned, and focused on the elf. "No. Now go fix my supper! I'll dine here," he directed, imperiously.

Lorly relaxed. That was more like Master Draco. "Yes, Master Draco," he replied, and popped out.

After a delicious meal of veal parmesan, egg noodles with butter sauce, green beans nicoise, a mixed leaf salad with red wine vinegar and olive oil, fresh baked French bread rolls with fresh dairy butter, coffee, and a small snifter of French brandy, Draco was ready to again tackle the problem of his father's infanticide of his sister. Insofar as he could gather, what made a child a demon spawn had mostly to do with the modification of that child's magic core. There was some modification of the genes, of course, as witness the demon spawn's ability to grow wings, but the only ability passed on to further generations was a stronger affinity, and ability, with magic.

So why had his father killed his baby sister? She would have borne magically stronger children to the family. Lucius didn't even have the excuse of Voldemort at the time, since for all anyone knew, the Dark Lord was dead and departed, courtesy of baby Potter. As..._distasteful_ as it was to admit it, there were only two possible reasons for his father to have killed the child which he could think of; jealousy, thinking his wife was bearing a demon's get, or superstitious fear, for the same reason - and Lucius had months to look up the same information Draco had found in a single day. So neither reason left the man in anything like a good light. Draco felt the last dregs of respect for his father draining away, and with it, his last reason to follow the path Lucius had set out for him.

He still had a couple of problems, one of which was the problem of his having to marry a demon spawn. Unfortunately, nothing in the books he'd read that day had said much of anything about demon curses, except that no way had been found around them. Usually, however, those curses were to cause the death of the recipient. In a way, Draco could admire this demon's curse. It didn't involve the death of one person, but of a whole family line, and left those extant to live with the knowledge. Psychological torture of the finest kind to a family whose main interest was to pass down the family name, and prestige, through time.

But he wasn't interested in marrying. Although many people had caught his eye for a short while, none had interested him enough to give them the honour of bedding them, although he had, discreetly, indulged his curiosity otherwise. Only one had kept his interest; a fact he had only recently recognised. And that presented a pretty problem on its own, since that person had been on the wrong end of his tongue and spite for several years. Harry Potter, himself. So far, he had been unable to come up with a way for him to get close enough to the boy to offer a truce so he could begin trying to mend some of the burned bridges, without getting himself hexed into the infirmary.

Part of the problem, of course, was that low-life Weasel, who had more temper than brains, and Granger, whom he'd likely alienated even worse than Potter. He didn't mind that, except that it made it more difficult to get to Potter. And he didn't really know why Potter could keep his interest, so.

Of course the other problem was a bit bigger and much more dangerous to him than the Golden Trio. He Who Must Not Be Named. But Potter had bested the Dark Lord on several occasions, so the one problem might be the solution to the other. Except for the demon spawn he was supposed to marry. That threw a spanner into the works, and made everything far more complicated. Not that they hadn't been complicated before, mind you.

Draco mentally threw up his hands in temporary defeat, and decided to go to bed.

oo

Harry had finished settling into Grimmauld Place long ago, and was himself preparing for bed. He had treated himself to a nice, long, hot shower, and now he was rather looking forward to having enough bedding, and a mattress that wasn't lumpy.

Harry now had a few more weeks of free time than he'd normally have had. He planned to make good use of it.

oo

Chapter One Your opinion? Home Chapter Three 


	3. Chapter 3

**_Demon Spawn_**

by Draeconin

**Disclaimer**: See chapter one for disclaimer and details.

**Chapter Three**

Early on August 31st, Remus Lupin dropped by to take Harry to King's Cross Station to catch the Hogwarts Express. Harry could have used the Floo system to go directly to the school, but it had been decided that it would cause less speculation and catch less attention if he followed the same routine as he'd done every year.

There were a few changes, however. For one thing, Harry's wardrobe had changed drastically. He'd spent a full week doing little more than going from shop to shop in Diagon Alley, and then some of the better Muggle clothiers, acquiring a wardrobe that fit both his tastes and his body. He always had a guard with him - one of the Order - who he turned to for advice on matters of current wizard styles, but only used that information to augment what he, himself, thought looked good on him. The result was a very sophisticated, yet daring, wardrobe.

He had never let on, but being the worst dressed student at Hogwarts had been quite humiliating. Ron and Hermione didn't seem to mind - they didn't even seem to notice - but he'd have liked to have been able to present a more respectable picture when he wasn't wearing school robes. He'd spent a full evening just feeding the hated, oversized cast-offs, one at a time, into the flames of the fire in the family room fireplace. It had been quite cathartic.

For this trip to King's Cross station, and thence to Hogwarts itself, Harry had decided on a forest green satin shirt, black linen trousers, black silk stockings, and black, dragon-hide half-boots. He accessorised with a dark green, dragon leather belt, gold chain necklace, and a gold ring with an onyx setting, in the midst of which resided a silver setting in the shape of a fire-breathing dragon. He wore an over-robe of the deepest green which was open at the neck and gently sloped in to meet at the waist, held there with a wide dragon-leather belt of the same colour, and then swept out again. His hair was pulled back with a leather thong into a 'tail' to minimize its movement.

Although he'd wanted to, he'd decided, during his shopping, not to get his ear pierced. An earring would be too good a handle in a fight if anyone got close enough to get hold. He'd settled for ear 'studs' that clung to the skin, but would come off just before there was enough pull to cause real pain. For this outfit, he was wearing a gold disc with an emerald chip in the centre.

Why the ensemble? For a couple of reasons. One was that he was tired of looking like someone from the slums, and wanted to dress to impress - shock a few people, and make a few others sit up and pay attention. He was tired of being overlooked. At the same time, he wanted to shake the 'Gryffindor Golden Boy' image. The other reason was that he was hunting; and he was both the weapon, and the bait. Harry had come to the conclusion that if Draco was fated to marry him, then Draco was going to have to work for it. The blond was eye candy enough to cause diabetes, but that sour centre needed to change. So Harry was going to make Malfoy _want_ to change.

"Harry?" Remus inquired, upon seeing Harry's new look.

"Hello, Remus!" Harry greeted the werewolf, enthusiastically. "What do you think of the new clothes?"

"That's not the only change! Albus mentioned it, but..." he shook his head. "I suppose it's not that much of a change. You've filled out, though. Good. You were too thin."

"I've done a lot of reading, too," Harry said, as he gathered his belongings and readied them for transportation. "You wouldn't believe some of the things I can do, now. But what about the clothes? You didn't say."

"You look...quite smashing, actually," Remus replied, standing back to get a better look.

"Thank you. Now, how do we get there?"

"We're going to bypass the Muggle part of the station entirely," the werewolf decided. "You'd stand out too much, in that," he said, gesturing to Harry's outfit. "I think we'll just Floo directly to the platform."

Harry shrugged. He was bit embarrassed, actually. He'd forgotten about the process of getting to platform 9¾, concentrating solely on meeting his friends, and the trip to Hogwarts - and, of course, a certain blond.

Remus walked to the family room, Harry right behind him, created a fire, magically, that would go out as soon as they were gone, and threw a handful of Floo powder into it. He called out "Hogwarts Express Platform nine and three-quarters," then turned to Harry. "Wait five seconds, then come through," he directed.

Harry grimaced, but nodded. Sixteen years old, _and_ a demon spawn, and he was still being treated like an ickle firstie.

Remus stepped through the green flames, calling out "King's Cross Station, platform 9 and ¾," and disappeared, the fire returning to its normal colour as he did. Harry took a small handful of floor powder, counting off the seconds. At five, he threw the Floo powder in. When it had turned green, he called out "King's Cross Station, platform 9 and ¾" in his turn, and stepped through, carrying his trunk. For a wonder, he didn't feel the disorientation that usually caused him to stumble as he stepped out. Another benefit of being a demon spawn, he supposed, and thanked the fates for that.

Harry found himself in a rather large room with at least a dozen fireplaces occasionally disgorging students or their family members. Remus was standing close by, his hand close to where Harry knew the werewolf kept his wand, but all appeared normal. He and Remus made their way to the door out onto the platform and into the bustling crowd of people, both adults and pupils, who were mostly all passing the time by meeting and greeting old friends and acquaintances until departure time.

The two made their way to the train, weaving through the crowd, then Harry turned to the werewolf, and gave him a light hug. "Thank you, Moony. I hope to see you again, soon."

"Be careful, Harry. And stay out of trouble, eh?"

Harry grinned. "If ol' Tom will let me," he answered.

At the mention of the Dark Lord's given name, Remus automatically looked at Harry's scar. And stared. "Harry? Your scar's gone?"

Harry kept grinning. "Isn't it smashing? Dumbledore said that minor imperfections, like my sight, get corrected by the transformation. I was so used to it, I didn't notice the scar was gone until two days later!"

"No more visions, then?"

"No; and fewer nightmares, too," Harry replied, a bit more soberly.

"But you're still having nightmares? You really need to talk about them, Harry."

Harry shrugged. "They're getting better."

"You've got to stop blaming yourself, you know."

"I need to go find a good seat, Remus. It was good talking to you, again."

The werewolf's countenance reflected his sorrow as he nodded, accepting Harry's wish not to talk about the subject. "Take care, Harry."

"And you, also, Moony." Harry turned and boarded the train.

He hadn't checked more than a dozen compartments before he found his friends. Entering the compartment, he greeted them. "Ron! 'Mione! How was _your_ summer?" he said, with a grin.

Ron, who had been trying to interest Hermione in a little snogging, looked up. He looked at the intruder in irritation. "And who in Hades' realm...are...you?" His voice trailed off weakly as his eyes widened in recognition. "Harry?"

"That's me!" Harry said, grinning as took a seat opposite the couple. "The summer treated me just _fine_! Of course there are a few barbs on the roses, but what do you think?" As he asked the question, Harry stood back up, and holding his arms out as far as the compartment would allow him, slowly turned until he was facing them again.

Hermione's eyes were wide and slightly glazed as she stared at her best friend. Ron's eyes narrowed and he took out his wand, pointing it at Harry. "You are _not_ Harry Potter," Ron stated, with certainty. "Yeah, sure, you resemble him, but you forgot an important detail."

Harry sat back down; his hands carefully not going anywhere near his wand. "My scar?" he asked, deliberately casual. "Well, that was a beneficial side effect of one of the larger barbs I just mentioned."

At Ron's words, Hermione had developed a small scowl on her face, as she looked at Harry. Now she took out her own wand to back Ron up, if necessary. "Explain," she said.

Harry crossed his arms, but carefully kept his back away from the seat back. If his friends actually cast a spell at him, he didn't want his wings to be encumbered. "Ever hear of demon spawn?"

"Myth!" Ron spat out.

But Hermione shook her head. "No, not myth, but very rare. I did an extra credit report on them last year for Care of Magical Creatures."

Harry nodded. "Dumbledore said that there were only seven of them in the country."

"Six," Hermione corrected.

"Until me," Harry said, in turn.

"Demon spawn have wings. Where are yours?" Ron challenged.

"Put away, for now," Harry replied.

"Likely story," the redhead scoffed.

Harry leaned forward, which caused both of his friends to raise their wands in preparedness. Harry paused. "If you two will allow me to remove my robe and shirt?"

Both Hermione and Ron blushed. "Why?" Ron said, suspiciously.

"I don't want to rip them when I extend my wings," Harry said, reasonably. He saw a little doubt enter Ron's expression.

"The shirt's satin. The robe is crushed velvet. Cost me forty-two galleons," Harry said, persuasively.

The doubt vanished from Ron's face. "Harry never had nice clothes," he stated triumphantly.

"Right. The Dursleys would have destroyed them, then accuse me of stealing, and punish me, or find out where I got the money in case there was more that they could get their hands on. Maybe both." '_This is ridiculous,_' Harry thought. '_I'm being held at wand point by my best friends!_'

The doubt was back in Ron's face, again. Not many people knew how bad Harry's home life was. "Then where did you get them?" the redhead asked, defiantly.

"My 'loving family' wasn't about to let me stay after my transformation, were they? Besides, when I changed, the magic output set off the wards. When I woke up, Tonks was sitting guard by my bed, and the house was full of Order members trying to find out what had happened," Harry explained, tiredly.

Ron and Hermione, though they kept hold of their wands, at least lowered them. "Just for the sake of argument, let's say you _are_ Harry," Hermione put in. "Why don't you tell the story from the beginning?"

Harry had just reached the part where the headmaster had transformed his bedroom wall into a huge mirror (having omitted any mention of being starkers at any time), when Draco Malfoy made his annual visit.

"Well, I see you survived another summer," Draco said sneeringly, his gaze sliding insultingly over Ron and Hermione, "Pah-hah-hotter?" the blond stuttered, as his gaze settled on Harry. Draco visibly swallowed. His face having lost its mask, it now showed a mixture of confusion and shock, and was quickly developing an overtone of lust as he just stood there, staring.

Harry had wondered if Malfoy would react something like this, so the Slytherin's reaction wasn't a complete shock to him, but it was to Ron and Hermione, who stared in fascination as they saw, for the first time, the Slytherin Prince as a real person. Harry felt a bit smug, really, to have so thoroughly discommoded his erstwhile rival.

It wasn't until Gregory Goyle, behind him, said "Draco?" that the blond finally snapped out of it and resumed his mask. He saw the small smirk on Harry's face, tried desperately to find something suitably snarky to say - and failed. He blushed, turned, and pushing past Crabbe and Goyle, walked rapidly away down the corridor followed by the large Slytherins, and by Ron's raucous laughter. He couldn't face Harry - at least not right now - but he vowed the Weasel would pay for laughing at him.

Back in the Gryffindor Trio's compartment, Ron was looking suspiciously at Harry again. "Why didn't you say anything, if you're Harry? Harry hates that slimy git."

"Not really, Ron. Just his attitude. But it just wouldn't do. I may have to marry him."

Ron gaped at him. Then he snorted. "So just who are you, really?"

"Still afraid of spiders, Ron?" Harry asked, tired of this game.

Ron turned an unlovely shade of red. Only Harry and his family knew of his fear of spiders. "Point," he said. "Okay, you're Harry." After a moment, he got over his mortification enough to ask "Marry Malfoy?"

Harry shrugged. "Another one of the barbs I mentioned. Seems Lucius killed Draco's little sister, who was also a demon spawn, and Draco wound up with a curse; that he'd have to marry a demon spawn."

Hermione was shocked at the revelation of Lucius killing his own daughter, but that couldn't stop her insatiable curiosity. "Why would Draco get cursed for something his father did?" she asked.

"Yeah, mate; and you said there were seven in the country, so what're you worried about?" Ron put in. For him, the news of Lucius committing infanticide was just proof that the whole family was corrupt.

"The other six already have their mates, Ron," Harry replied.

"And, Hermione," he said, answering her question, "the whole family got cursed. No more children. The Malfoy line is dead, despite Lucius' hopes for Malfoy to carry on the name."

Hermione looked like she was torn between being shocked, and pleased.

"It's about bloody time!" Ron crowed. "Dad always did say our family would outlive theirs!" He looked exceedingly pleased for a minute, to Harry's slight disgust, before the redhead remembered Harry's plight and looked at his friend pityingly. "I've changed my mind, mate. I really _don't_ want to be you," he said.

"Here, now, wait!" Ron said a moment later, perking up. "You said you have wings? Give us a look, then?"

Harry tilted his head, looking at his best friend perplexedly. "Do you believe I'm me, then?"

"Yeah, yeah, mate; but the wings?"

Harry settled back into his seat. "It'll keep. I'll show you in the dorm."

Ron's expression was a cross between a disappointed scowl and a pout. Quite amusing, really. Harry let his displeasure with his friend fade.

"What happened to your scar, Harry?" Hermione asked.

Harry sighed. He loved Hermione to pieces, but when she got on a subject that interested her, she could be as stubborn as a bulldog. It could be just a bit much. "Just like my eyes, 'Mione; the magic from the transformation healed everything."

"But that was a curse scar, Harry!" she persisted. "Nothing can heal those!"

"You're an expert on demon magic, then?" Harry asked, as gently as he could.

Hermione's face flushed. "Right," she said, conceding the point. She looked out the window, with that act saying that the conversation was over.

Harry had mixed feelings about that, but was mostly relieved to have the grilling over with. He watched as Ron put a hand on Hermione's shoulder, offering silent comfort, and sighed as she put her hand over his, accepting it. He closed his eyes, hoping for a short nap. When he opened them again a few minutes later, having failed in that effort, he saw Hermione curled up into Ron, her head on his shoulder.

That brought home to him how lonely he was. Harry stood. "I'm going for a short walk; maybe find the refreshment cart," he said.

Ron looked up. "Yeah, mate," he said, gently. Hermione nodded her head on Ron's shoulder.

Harry had no intention of looking for the cart lady. He'd merely used that as an excuse. If he came across her, he'd buy Ron and Hermione a few things, but otherwise... So he merely nodded a quick 'farewell' to them, and left. He found an empty compartment, remarkably, and decided to stay there. He'd been watching the countryside roll past for about a half-hour, when the door slid open.

"Oh, for...! Are you everywhere, Potter?" Draco sneered. He was having 'those' reactions again, but since the original shock of seeing Potter so...changed, was over, he was able to hide them. He was happy he'd already changed into his school robes. They were just voluminous enough to hide the physical reaction.

Harry had turned to face the door as soon as it had started to open, and his wand was in hand, although hidden on his opposite side. "Couldn't find your friends, Malfoy?" Harry asked, without bite.

"Out, Potter," Crabbe said. Harry and Draco both looked at him in surprise. Neither of the large boys - young men, now - were known for speaking, except to back up Draco.

"I'm quite comfortable here, thank you, Crabbe," Harry replied, before looking again to Draco. "Losing control, Mal-?"

Crabbe had his wand in hand - standard practice for them when faced with any of the so-called 'Golden Trio', but now he decided to use it. On his own. Without prior instruction. "_Rictusempra!_" he incanted.

They all heard a ripping sound.

As Crabbe got out the first couple of syllables, Draco just had time to say "No!" before the spell was complete. It was a fairly harmless spell, meant to cause uncontrollable laughter, but Draco hadn't wanted any trouble, this trip. He turned to remove the laughing curse from Potter. But Potter wasn't the one laughing uncontrollably. Crabbe was. But Draco had other things to occupy his attention. Two other things. Wings. Sticking out of Potter's back.

"Damn," Harry said calmly, trying to peer over his shoulder. "I really liked this shirt, too." He looked up at Draco. "Not to mention the over-robe. I'm glad you weren't the one hit by the rebound," Harry confided.

Draco looked as though his legs were about to collapse under him. Harry moved quickly, as Crabbe and Goyle didn't appear to be aware of the situation (Crabbe laughing uncontrollably on the floor, and Goyle trying to help him), and helped Draco to the seat opposite his before taking his own again.

Draco just kept staring at the wings. Harry kept quiet until Draco's eyes finally shifted to meet his own. "Are you all right, now?" Harry asked quietly.

"Please tell me you're a vampyre?" Draco pleaded.

Harry smirked. That hadn't been the reaction he'd anticipated. Murderous rage, denial - even the accusation of _being_ a vampyre - these, among other reactions, he'd expected. Having Malfoy prefer him to be a vampyre, and therefore possibly the death of him, hadn't been on the list. It was ironic, and funny, in a twisted sort of way.

Harry shook his head. "Sorry, no. Demon spawn. Is that close enough for you?"

To Harry's further amusement, Draco just groaned and dropped his head into his hands. It told Harry one thing, though. Draco was aware of the curse. He leant over and patted the blond on the shoulder. Draco didn't seem to notice. Draco did notice Harry next words, though.

"There, there...darling. It's not that bad, is it?" Harry was having a glorious time.

Draco jerked up and away from Harry as though he'd been stung. "Don't call me that!" he exclaimed, in an angry panic. Then his eyes widened in realization. "You know?"

"And I'm not thrilled about it, either," Harry said, nodding.

The Slytherin frowned; a small frown, because he didn't want to cause wrinkles in later life. "What's wrong with me?" he demanded. "I'm a Malfoy!"

"And that's what's wrong with you," Harry said. "Your attitude; not your last name," he quickly added, as Draco looked about ready to explode.

That derailed the blond, but not by much. "Nothing is wrong with my attitude!" He looked like he was debating with himself, and then, as though the words were torn from him, "Is there?"

Harry cocked his head thoughtfully at Draco. "Do the words 'superior', 'sneering', 'snarky', and 'demeaning' mean anything to you?" he asked softly.

Draco blushed. But what he _said_ was, "I _am_ superior!" with his nose elevated.

"What makes you so superior, Draco?" Harry asked, not noticing his use of the blond's given name.

Draco noticed, but he wouldn't mention it - yet. "I'm a pureblood," he said, proudly.

Harry had plenty of the time over this past summer, and others, to contemplate such questions. "If you were to take a vial of your blood, and a vial of Hermione's, and put them side by side, without knowing which vial was which, and without using magic to determine the difference, since that could also tell the difference between even yours and your father's blood - could you tell the difference?"

Draco opened his mouth to give a devastatingly obvious answer...and found himself without a reply.

Harry didn't leave him hanging. "Blood is just blood, Draco. What counts is here," he said, pointing to his head, "and here." Harry put his hand over his heart. At this point, Harry remembered his wings, and reabsorbed them, then made a subtle gesture towards Draco's goons with his wand.

Trying to regain the upper hand, Draco replied, "What would you know? You're not even _human!_"

Harry shrugged. "So it would seem. Your point?"

Draco had meant for that to be an emotionally devastating barb. That it had completely missed its mark, had left him floundering. He got to his feet, beckoned to his large satellites, who had finally managed to sort themselves out, and then turned to Harry. "Just stay out of my way, Potter," he sneered.

Harry grinned at him, in response. He watched the blond go. He didn't quite know why, but he was enjoying this. He wanted to tame that snarky blond. He wasn't going to be able to do it by pursuing him, though. He knew the Slytherin Prince too well to think that. No, he was going to have to do it in another way - make Draco come to him. He'd known that before, of course, but hadn't bothered to try to think of anything past making himself look good. Now... His grin grew wider, as a plan formed.

oo

"Oh, my gods! Somebody catch me!"

Harry spun around to find out what had happened, only to find some anonymous girl, a fourth year from the looks of her, staring at him lustfully. And because of her outcry, and her staring at him, a lot of other people were turning to look at him, as well.

"Oh, honestly, Hortense!" came a familiar voice. "Ever since you discovered boys, you've gone absolutely ga-ga!"

Harry grinned. "Hey, Ginny!" he called.

"That absolute dream knows you?" the girl whom Harry now knew was 'Hortense' said to Ginny.

Ginny had turned to curiously study Harry, wondering how he _had_ known who she was. Slowly her eyes grew wide and her mouth dropped open. She raised her hand to cover her mouth before recovering enough to lower it. "Harry? Is that you?" she asked, wonderingly.

"You know him?" Hortense exclaimed. "You have to introduce me!"

She was ignored.

Harry continued to grin. "Have I changed _that_ much, Gin?" he asked the redheaded girl.

Ginny didn't answer; she just leapt at him, wrapping her arms around him. Hortense stared, pouted, then turned and stamped off.

"Have you changed? You utter prat! You know you have!" Ginny exclaimed, stepping back to take a good look at him. "Wow! It's a good thing I'm over that crush, dear 'brother', or you'd never get rid of me," she said, grinning back at him. "What did you do to yourself?"

"Didn't do a thing, Sis," Harry replied. "It was a 'birthday gift'."

Ginny nodded knowingly. "Hidden magic in the broom closet, eh?" She grabbed his hand, and started off. "Come on; let's find a carriage!"

"We need to wait for Ron and 'Mione," Harry protested, holding back. Still, he couldn't wipe the grin from his face for her enthusiasm.

Ginny snickered. "They probably don't even know the train's stopped, yet."

Harry just smiled at her, then nodded over her shoulder. Ginny turned. There, glaring at her, was Ron, Hermione standing close by.

Turning back to Harry, Ginny just grinned, and shrugged. "Oops!" she said insouciantly. "Well, they're here now, so let's go!"

Ron advanced on his little sister. "Ginevra Weasley, if you think-"

Ron blinked as he found said little sister's wand poking at his nose.

"Don't you dare talk to me as though you were Mum or Da, Ronald Weasley," the youngest Weasley told him fiercely, "or I'll hex you from here to Hogsmeade, and back - and you know I can!"

The expression on Ron's face was priceless. The surprise and chagrin he was showing, plus staring at the tip of Ginny's wand, which made him cross-eyed... Harry started laughing.

Ron's focus shifted to Harry. Harry's laughter slowed, then stopped as he noticed that Ron was getting angry. Why? He'd never got truly angry before? Ah. Hermione had witnessed it. It wouldn't have mattered last year, but now that their relationship had blossomed from friendship to a closer relationship... Ron had wanted to impress Hermione with his forcefulness, and had wound up looking the fool. Well, his fault for choosing the wrong target. He should have known better. Still...

Harry held his hands up in a placating manner. "Not my fault, Ron. She's _your_ sister!"

"Hey!" Ginny said, fake hurt on her face, as she put her wand away. "Thanks bunches, Harry."

Harry gave a short laugh. "Yeah, all right," he conceded. "Mine too, by adoption."

Ginny gave him a short, sharp nod, satisfaction evident in her face. "Damn right!" she said.

"Ginny!" Ron exclaimed, protesting her language.

Ginny gave him a disgusted look. "All right, all right!" she conceded impatiently. "Now can we get a carriage before they're all taken?"

oo

Chapter Two Your opinion? Home Chapter Four 


	4. Chapter 4

_**Demon Spawn**_

by Draeconin

See chapter one for disclaimer and details.

**Chapter Four**

Harry didn't see Malfoy again until the Sorting Ceremony. When he caught the blond Slytherin looking his way, Harry subtly winked at him, and then looked away as though he'd done no such thing. Out of the corner of his eye, he caught the blond's reaction: shock, then perplexed confusion, before his mask slid back into place. Granted, the reactions had been quite subtle, but Harry had been studying the blond for years.

The Sorting Ceremony was quite long, this year. When Voldemort had first been defeated and thought killed, people had again started having children, thinking it would then be safe to raise a family. That bunch would have started coming to Hogwarts about two years after he had. This batch was still from near the beginning of that period of Dark-Lord-free time. Harry suspected that the number would increase for about another nine or ten years and then slack off, as people had again become more careful about bringing children into the world after Voldemort's return. Assuming, that is, that there was still a Hogwarts and a free wizarding world by that time.

Harry carefully didn't make eye contact with Draco during the Sorting Feast, but looked at him often with his peripheral vision. He was gratified to catch the Slytherin looking at him on several occasions; occasionally with a sneer if he were talking to his housemates, but otherwise thoughtfully and, Harry thought, with a hint of curiosity.

His own attention was quite occupied by his housemates all wanting to know the secret to his transformation. They were referring, of course, to his transformation from a 'pleasant-looking' boy to 'a hot item', as one Muggle-born witch in fourth year was heard to say. Still, the first time he heard the word he'd wondered if his secret was out. He knew Crabbe and Goyle wouldn't say anything. He'd used a confusion hex on them, adding images so wild they'd be thought mad if they _were_ to voice them to anyone. So the only one who might reveal his true status was Malfoy; and he wouldn't for reasons of his own. At least Harry was _almost_ sure of that. So Harry was quite relieved when it turned out his friends and House mates were only speaking of his appearance.

"How are we to have a chance at the birds now, Harry?" Seamus Finnegan teased.

"Oh, that's just 'fowl', Seamus," Harry quipped. "But if you're intent on it, I suppose you might find some by the lake."

There was a general round of groans, and Seamus winced comically, then aimed a swipe at Harry's arm. "Think you earned a 'feather' in your cap for that, don't you?" Finnegan replied, joining in the game.

Harry just grinned and shook his head. "No, that would be you, Finnegan, getting 'down' with your bad self!"

Seamus clutched at his chest, miming an arrow to the heart, and let himself fall back to floor, playing dead.

"Punning - the lowest form of humour," Hermione said into the laughter.

'Most everyone who heard, ignored her. The remainder wondered what had her in such a serious mood, and then shrugged it off to return to the general festivities.

Harry found out later, but not before engineering another 'accidental' run-in with Draco as everyone was filing out of the Great Hall on the way to their dorms. He spotted his quarry, got close, and then pretended to get shoved into the blond. In the process of 'steadying' them both, Harry held Draco quite close - but only so long as it took them to regain their balance, and perhaps a second or two more.

"Sorry, Draco; got shoved. See you in classes," Harry said, with a smile. With that he was off into the crowd, not looking back, and not giving the Slytherin a chance to be snarky. And now with a quite definite smirk on his face. Harry's plan to tame the blond Slytherin had been initiated.

Draco stared after the retreating form of his rival, torn between indignant anger at being so rudely jostled and familiarly handled, and a strange new feeling that entailed, in part, a warmth in his stomach, and where Potter had touched him. He shook it off. He'd give Potter an earful tomorrow, if he didn't just hex the beautiful, sexy git. '_No! I did_ not _just think that!_'

Draco was horrified with himself. He then remembered what happened when Crabbe had tried to hex the demon spawn, and decided that hexing was off the agenda.

'_Speaking of Crabbe_,' Draco thought, '_there's a matter of acting without orders, to be spoken of._'

- - -

The trouble started for Harry almost as soon as he entered the Gryffindor common room. He found an empty seat and was watching the second and third years welcoming, talking, and getting to know the new first years, when Hermione came up to him. "Malfoy, Harry?" she accused.

"What about him?" he asked, continuing to watch the youngers.

"I saw you watching him out of the corner of your eye; and then that pathetic 'trip' into him as we were leaving?"

Harry still hadn't recovered from his friends grilling him at wand point on the train. This was too much. He slowly, deliberately, turned his head until he was looking her in the eye. "And what business is that of yours?" he asked, with a decided chill in his voice.

"It's bloody Mal-" she began in a loud, outraged tone.

Harry silenced her. Not with a spell, but just from the sudden, intense need to shut up that annoying nagging. And then he stared, amazed.

Hermione tried a couple of more times to say something - probably telling him to take the spell off (which he wasn't quite ready to do, yet) - and then stomped off; likely in search of Ron. A minute or two later his guess was proved out as Hermione again appeared, this time dragging Ron.

"What's this all about, mate?" Ron asked, perplexed. This was, evidently, the wrong approach, because Hermione kicked him in the shin, causing the redhead to dance about a bit while he rubbed it and glared at her.

Harry wasn't in a mood to be amused. "Your girlfriend decided to nag me. After that debacle on the train, I am not in the mood to put up with it," he said, with a shrug.

Ron addressed Hermione. "He's a dem-"

"Ron!" Harry interrupted. When the redhead looked at Harry, shocked that the raven-haired youth would use such a harsh tone with him, he said "That's just between us. If it gets out, I will know where it came from." The warning was unvoiced, but it was there.

Harry turned his attention to Hermione. "This is not fourth or fifth year, 'Mione. I don't need, nor do I want your interference or 'advice' unless I ask for it. I love you as a friend, but your 'mothering' is extremely unwelcome. Are we understood?"

During Harry's speech to Ron's girlfriend, the redhead's face had become very flushed. Ron desperately wanted to defend her, but at the same time he really wasn't involved. He had suffered from Hermione's 'mothering' complex as well, so he could sympathise. And this was a _demon spawn_ talking! Ron had an almost superstitious awe of them from bedtime stories he'd been told as a child. That awe was a little compromised since this one was his best friend, so he wound up standing there feeling conflicted and helpless.

Hermione was shocked that Harry would talk to her like that, but was far too angry to care right then. She glared, but nodded, then pointed to her mouth.

Harry frowned. He wasn't quite sure how he'd done it in the first place.

Ron misunderstood. "I tried 'Finite', but it didn't work," he admitted. "Would you?"

"I'm not sure how I did it," Harry admitted, in his turn. "Give me a minute?"

"Yeah, mate," the redhead conceded, helplessly. He gave Hermione an embarrassed little shrug as she stood there glaring equally, back and forth, at Harry and Ron.

Harry concentrated, willing her to be able to speak again.

"Would you hurry- Oh!" Hermione exclaimed, and then remembered she was angry with the dark-haired lad. "Don't you _ever_ do anything like that to me again!" she ordered.

Harry was looking at her, eyes narrowed. "I don't really know what I'm capable of, _Granger_. Do you really want to push me enough to find out?"

Hermione's shocked brown eyes stared at him. Harry's use of her surname had brought home to her that she actually _may_ have pushed him too far.

"Don't threaten her, Harry," Ron growled.

Harry's eyes closed in pain, and he reached for the strength to deal with this. When they slowly opened again, focused over the redhead's shoulder, the lights seemed dimmer. He wondered for half a second if he was absorbing the light. "I understand, Ron. She's your girlfriend, and you feel the need to protect your potential mate." Now he focused his eyes on Ron's. "But she's in the wrong, and on some level you know it."

Ron's flushed face showed that yes, he was aware of it, but the stubborn set of his jaw said that wasn't going to make a difference.

Harry sighed and stood, then very formally held his hand out to the young man who had been his best friend for so many years.

"Harry!" came Ginny's happy voice. "Why are you hiding away in a corner? Come show off that gorgeous bod!" Ginny thought Harry's hair looked darker, but then dismissed the thought. Probably just due to the dimmed lights. As the youngest Weasley joined them, she took in the expressions on their faces. "What's going on?" she asked, losing her smile, concern evident in her voice.

Harry smiled weakly at the girl. "I was just about to say a fond farewell to our brother," he said, his voice cracking on the last word, tears evident in his eyes.

That things had gone this far had never occurred to Ron, and he was shocked. "What? But...mate!"

Ginny had rounded on her brother, but Harry's hand on her shoulder forestalled her. She looked questioningly at her adored adopted brother. When he shook his head at her, she subsided, but it was apparent that it was only a temporary cease-fire.

"I won't be controlled **or** led around by the ear anymore, Ron - by anyone. Nor will I allow myself to be browbeaten. And...I refuse to come between you and Hermione," Harry explained.

Hermione's eyes were wide open by this time as well. "Harry?" she said tentatively, finally aware of where her controlling nature had led them.

Harry just shook his head at her and then pushed past them, heading for the common room exit. It had become too much for him. A moment later he was gone, leaving two shocked sixth-years, and a furious fifth-year demanding explanations.

oo

"About your actions on the train today, Vincent..." Draco drawled, when he could finally talk to his 'bodyguards' in private. "Wasn't that just a bit out of character?"

"Terribly sorry, Draco. Just a bit out of sorts. That whole 'father in Azkaban' thing, you know. I was rather surprised you weren't out for your pint of blood from him as well," the large young man replied.

Contrary to their public personae, Vincent Crabbe and Gregory Goyle were _not_ the great lumps they pretended to be. They would hardly have made it through their first year at Hogwarts if they were, let alone passed their OWLs. It amused them to conform to the 'large equals dumb' stereotype. Of course, adhering to it had led them into embarrassing situations from time to time...

"I'm afraid I'm not at liberty to discuss it at this time," Draco said, hoping they'd think his lack of action was due to some plan or other from either his father or Voldemort.

"Draco, you know better," Gregory admonished. At Draco's questioning look, he embellished. "We're not as dumb as we look?" he reminded the blond. "We saw how you reacted. I think Potter may have put a confusion hex on us, because I can recall seeing a lot of things that don't seem possible, but one thing does stand out. Wings. Is Potter a vampyre? Did he hypnotise you?"

Draco laughed, bitterly. "No, Potter's not a vampyre. But if you don't remember, I think I'd prefer to leave it that way."

"Not very friendly, Draco," Vincent said, frowning. Gregory's expression was quite similar.

"It's...personal, all right?" Draco replied, defensively.

Crabbe looked bored. "We already figured _that_ out. You fancy him."

"Don't be ridiculous!" the blond said, scornfully.

When his large friends just kept looking at him dubiously, he caved. "It's...complicated. Yes, he's very desirable; but you know as well as I do what might happen if I were to pursue that. And there are...other factors - that I will **not** go into," he added, in response to their quiet urgings to continue.

"You know that _he's_ interested, then?" Vincent asked, quietly.

"I'm...not sure. I think so," Draco replied. "He _did_ say that he didn't care for my attitude," he said quietly, then blushed as he realised that he'd said that aloud.

Both young men were nodding. "Good for defence; poor for winning friends and influencing people. We accept it in public for the sake of the farce, but if you were the same way with us in private... You _don't_ think we'd put up with the abuse?"

Draco shook his head, accepting the distinction. And yes, he did do most of it for defensive purposes. Well, almost all of it, actually. The things he'd done to get Potter and his friends in trouble had been upon orders from his father to do something - _any_thing - to force the 'Boy Who Lived' out of protected status and protected space, or face the consequences. 'Cruciatus' didn't leave any marks on the body.

Fortunately his father hadn't done it often, or for more than a few seconds when he did; and Draco had always blamed Potter for getting him in enough trouble to bring the curse upon him, although the mudblood getting higher marks than he had done so a time or two as well. With Lucius not around to influence him any longer, though, Draco had begun to question the justice of those punishments, as well as the severity. Surely an Unforgivable curse was a bit much?

"Draco?"

Draco broke from his reverie. "Just thinking," he said, defensively.

Vincent and Gregory grinned at each other, then turned to the blond. "Thinking of Potter?" Gregory inquired.

"My father, if you must know," Draco replied coolly.

"Well, our fathers are out of the way of making or causing any more trouble. And I must admit that I over-reacted on the train. Not really Potter's fault they're in Azkaban - just in the right place at the wrong time. But I was brooding, and he was a good scapegoat," Crabbe explained, then left _that_ potentially dangerous subject behind. "But if you want to get anywhere with Potter, you might want to tone down the 'aristocratic git' image."

"Gregory?" Draco inquired, asking for that young man's input. "You're being very quiet."

Goyle shrugged. "Vince and I discussed this earlier. He's said it well enough," he stated, with a little grin.

"Besides which, if I took something badly, it wouldn't be you getting hexed?" Draco guessed.

Gregory's grin grew wider, confirming the suspicion.

oo

"Harry?"

'_Ginny,_' Harry thought, and turned. "How did you find me?"

Ginny shrugged. "It wasn't hard. You wander the halls if you can't sleep, but you come up here if you're troubled, or you need to think."

Harry stared at her. "How would you know that?"

"I used to have a crush on you, remember? I used to hide to watch you; and when you went out, I followed."

"Do you know how dangerous that was?" Harry inquired, concern making him angry.

"Hey," she said, flippantly, "I never got caught!" Ginny gave a little laugh. "Although it was close, a few times," she admitted.

"But-"

"Harry," she interrupted, "I'm not here to talk about me."

"There's nothing to talk about," Harry replied.

"Am I going to have to put you in a body bind so you'll talk to me?" Ginny said teasingly.

"It wouldn't work," Harry said, with a wry grin.

Ginny laughed. "Don't tell me you've become immune to magic?" she said disbelievingly.

"Something like that - and don't try it!" he warned, as he saw a mischievous look come into her eyes. "I'll show you why, if you think you can keep it to yourself," Harry offered.

"Harry," she said patiently, "did I ever tell Ron or Hermione where they could find you?"

Harry got up and hugged his 'adoptive' sister. It was all unofficial, but it felt real. "Thanks, sis," he said, then he started taking off his robe.

"Harry! I said I was over my crush, but don't tempt me!" she said, laughing. "What are you doing?"

"I don't want to rip any more clothes, today," Harry replied enigmatically. "I still have to repair a couple of things." By now he was out of the robe. He cast a locking charm on the door, and began unbuttoning his shirt.

"If any of my brothers saw you disrobing in front of me... Not that I mind the show!" she said, fervently.

Harry finished removing his shirt. "You might want to sit down," he suggested.

"Good idea," Ginny replied a bit breathlessly, as she stared.

He'd had in mind shock from seeing his wings when he'd asked her to sit, but - whatever worked. He hadn't really expected her to get aroused. After the youngest Weasley had seated herself, Harry unfolded his wings, watching her carefully.

Ginny stared. "What are you?" she asked, in awe.

Harry grinned. He should have known he wouldn't have to worry about his adoptive sister. "You're not going to accuse me of being a vampyre?" he asked.

The redheaded girl sneered at him. "They're not black," she said flatly, referring to his wings.

"Okay, okay! Turn off the attitude," he said laughingly. Then he sobered. "Have you ever heard of demon spawn?"

"Sure," she said. "Mum told Ron and me stories about them once in a while when we were wee tykes. Why?" Her eyes widened. "Harry? You're not saying...?"

Harry nodded.

Ginny just sat there staring at him, then at his wings, with their multi-coloured shifting patterns.

Harry got self-conscious, re-absorbed his wings, and then started putting his shirt and robe back on. "It's late. We should be getting back to the dorms," he said.

"Harry," Ginny said hesitantly, "how does this tie in with what happened down there?"

"Ginny, if I weren't afraid I'd be starting something I couldn't finish, I'd kiss you. You're the first one to ask, rather than demand."

"So?" the girl said, a bit impatiently.

"I take it back," Harry teased. Then he sighed. "There are seven demon spawn in Britain, right now. The other six are mated," he said, abruptly. "And Draco Malfoy was cursed by a demon to marry a demon spawn." He watched Ginny's eyes widen. "Now, remember that you promised. I don't want _anyone_ else to have that information; especially not Ron and Hermione."

"Why not them?"

"Because they didn't ask, and because they would interfere if they knew. I don't want to have to do something to them, if they did," he finished grimly.

"You _want_ to marry him?" Ginny asked, in disbelief.

Harry's smile was a bit dry of humour. "I want to _tame_ him," he replied. Then his gaze focused on Ginny again. "Although he _is_ a bit of all right. If you want to watch, I have no qualms with that. But don't get involved, Ginny. You're precious to me."

There were layers of warnings, there. Ginny heard them all. She also heard the obvious love and caring. She nodded. Although she still loved and adored her adoptive 'brother', this was not the simple boy she thought she knew. "May I have a hug?" she asked him, feeling a bit insecure.

Harry smiled and gave her the reassurance she needed. It also reassured him; a bonus.

Ginny looked up at him, a gamine smile on her face. "I can really watch?"

Harry grinned at her. "Yes, you _may_," he corrected.

She stuck her tongue out at him, then grinned happily.

When they arrived back at the common room, it was to find Ron and Hermione waiting up for them - or for Harry, at any rate.

"What were you doing out alone, Ginny?" Ron asked, frowning.

"Does it _look_ like I was alone, Ron?" Ginny replied, with a look that implied Ron had lost what little brains he had to begin with.

Ron's face darkened for a moment, then he let it go. Harry had never shown any interest in Ginny in _that_ way - and what if he were? What better match? "So where were you?" he asked.

"We had quite a nice conversation, Ron; in the Astronomy Tower," Harry interjected.

Hermione had been patient long enough. "Harry, I..." She bit her lip when Harry turned his less-than-warm gaze on her. "I'm sorry, Harry!" she blurted out. "I just..."

"You just think that I can't think for myself; that I'm going to bumble into trouble, stumble over the shoelaces I don't know how to tie, and break my neck - all while reaching for a muffin at breakfast," Harry interrupted acerbically.

Hermione flushed. "All right; I deserved that," she admitted.

"No, Ron. I did," she said, as the redhead looked as though he were going to leap to her defence. She turned back to Harry.

"I...hope I haven't irreparably damaged our friendship, Harry. And I don't want to be the cause of a rift between you and Ron." She was silent a moment, but Harry had decided to let her have her say, for the sake of old times. "I know I have a tendency to want to be in control,-"

Harry snorted his agreement, renewing her blush.

"- but I truly thought I was helping! I wanted to be a help, anyway. I felt I wasn't doing enough," Hermione finished, weakly.

"Are you finished?" Harry asked.

Hermione nodded.

"I'll take it under advisement," the demon spawn said, and headed for the stairs to the boys' dorms, leaving his two best friends feeling lost, and Ginny trying to keep from doing a victory leap. She had been waiting for years for him to stand up to those two.

"What now?" Hermione asked, sounding as lost as she felt. Ron looked at her helplessly, and shrugged.

"Now," Ginny stated firmly, drawing a surprised look from the other two, "you try to see him for who he _is_, rather than who you want him to be!" With a look of admonishment at the two, she headed off for bed, herself.

It had taken her a couple of years, but in those years of following Harry around and spying on him she had, herself, come to see that 'The Hero of the Wizarding World' was only a slight, bewildered, bespectacled boy who was just trying to cope with circumstances that were out of his control; not some sort of super-wizard, despite whatever power he might have. That was the time during which her infatuation had turned to compassion, and then a sisterly fondness that had deepened considerably, over time.

True, he was now any witch's wet dream, but while she could appreciate his new looks, it would have felt wrong to try to do anything about it; the same as with any of her brothers. Not to mention the fact, although he hadn't actually come out and said so, that Harry just wasn't interested in 'the gentler sex'. '_Gentler_,' she thought, thinking of some of the women she knew, and knew of. '_Ha!_'

Below, in the common room, Hermione turned to Ron. "Do you think she's right? Have we failed Harry?" she asked, hoping for reassurance.

Ron, still looking in the direction his sister had gone, replied. "I'm not sure any more, 'Mione." His thoughts ran over the years; memories of Harry playing out in his mind, and compared that with what he knew now. "Maybe," he admitted. It was galling to think that his best friend, someone he'd known for five years, might not be the person Ron thought he was. It was worse to realize that his ignorance might have been due to his own willful blindness.

As late as it was, and the first day of classes tomorrow, they huddled up together in front of the fire, lost in their own thoughts as each tried to garner comfort from the other.

Harry stretched out in bed, his own emotions not the happiest. But if the last month was any indication, with the loss of the curse scar, he at least would no longer be receiving visions from Voldemort, nor be taunted by him. If he had nightmares, they'd be honest ones. Harry turned over on his side and drifted off to sleep.

oo

Chapter Three

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Chapter Five


	5. Chapter 5

_**Demon Spawn**_

by Draeconin

See chapter one for disclaimer and details.

**Chapter Five**

"Good morning, Draco," Harry said in the blond's ear, as they 'happened' to enter the Great Hall together for breakfast. Actually, Harry had been waiting in a shadowed niche for the Slytherin to show. After giving him that greeting, Harry went on to the Gryffindor table, not looking back to see the reaction he'd caused. He could guess: startlement, confusion, anger at being thrown emotionally off-balance...curiousity - and maybe, if he were lucky, a little animal magnetism.

He was fairly close.

Draco _had_ been startled. He had watched Potter's back, his gaze sliding down to the Gryffindor's arse, as Harry walked to his table to join his friends, but only for a second or two, before he made his way to his own table. It wouldn't do to allow anyone to see how easily he'd been thrown off balance. Bloody Potter. How did he do it? He wondered what Potter was up to. The Gryffindor had stated that he wasn't thrilled about the curse that was supposed to unite them, so what was he doing? Draco wasn't angry, but he _was_ frustrated. He felt he was being toyed with. _'But what a toy master!'_ No! Damn it, he would _not_ be the plaything for anything - demon, demon spawn, demon curse, or none!

But Draco had also noticed Harry's outfit, and was just a little envious. They were school robes, of fine material and tailored, like his own, but Harry's were split up the outside front of the right leg to the lower hip, allowing greater freedom of movement. That being the case, however, the green-eyed lad was also wearing tailored black trousers. True, the Muggle-borns and some of the half-bloods raised with Muggles also wore trousers, or in the girls' case, skirts or dresses under their robes. But that was because they were classless, crass, and low born, not out of a sense of style. Draco only wore fine linen braes and calf-length, split-leather boots under his robes, this time of year, while it was still warm. Most _true_ wizarding folk dressed similarly. But then, their robes weren't split up one side, either.

The blond shook himself out of his introspection, and reached for some toast.

"Potter's quite hot, don't you think?" Blaise Zabini murmured in his ear.

Draco tensed momentarily, but then pretended disinterest. "If you like that sort of look, I suppose," he said nonchalantly.

"I wonder if I'd have a chance?" Blaise continued, baiting the blond. As a fairly close friend, he'd seen the signs of Draco's interest, and also saw that he was denying it.

"You?" Draco sneered, and then reigned himself in. "You won't know until you try," he said, as disinterestedly as he could. But he was seething inside. '_How_ dare _he?_' he was thinking. '_No, damn it! He can't have him!_'

Draco had only just recently recognised that he wanted Harry for himself, and he wasn't about to let the Gryffindor go without a fight. He didn't like the idea that he had no choice in accepting the green-eyed young man, even if he **did** want him, so he wasn't going to _give in_ without a fight either, but he decided that if Blaise tried to make a move on Potter, he'd be there to scotch it.

"Good morning, Harry!" a very chipper Ginny greeted him as he sat down, which Harry returned with a grin.

Amongst other scattered greetings, Ron and Hermione both gave him a "Hi, Harry," along with rather small, hopeful, sheepish smiles, to which Harry gave a nod and a polite smile, and replied "Good morning," before turning to his breakfast; toast and fruit.

Since coming into his inheritance as a demon spawn, Harry hadn't had much of an appetite, his hair absorbing most of the energy he needed. He only really needed to eat for the vitamins, minerals, and proteins his body needed to maintain itself. That didn't mean that he no longer enjoyed eating, however: far from it. As a source of the things his body needed, for instance, even the hearty, whole-grain toast served at Hogwarts was very low on the scale. But he enjoyed toast or scones, mornings, so he ate it.

"So, Harry, how's the hunting?" Ginny asked with a small smirk, as he sat beside her.

"Plenty of game, but it's a bit skittish, " Harry replied, with a grin.

Ginny laughed aloud.

From across the hall, Draco noticed the interchange, although he couldn't hear what was being said. But it was entirely too friendly, to his way of thinking. He'd have to do something about that. Then his glance caught someone else staring covetously at Harry, and then another, and another, and... Good gods, he thought, seething, it looked as though half of Hogwarts wanted his Harry!

The thought stopped Draco cold. 'His' Harry? He groaned, and cupped his face in his hands for a moment, before looking up again, a new-found resolve hardening in his mind. Yes! _His_ Harry! Although he still intended to lead Harry a merry chase, he decided to make it more interesting - for both of them.

oo

_'Well,_ that _was a mistake,'_ Draco thought, shortly after waking up. His arse burned and ached a bit, but it was a discomfort that he savoured, despite his plans to tease and drive Harry to distraction having gone tits up. Harry's arm was holding him in a manner that could only be called possessive, but rather than being resentful, this only made him feel safe and cherished. He let his mind wander over the events of the previous evening.

-x-

'I don't know how he's doing it,' _Draco seethed,_ 'but he's getting on my last ruddy nerve.'

_Harry had been following him around all day again, when he wasn't busy with his own classes, but he had been doing it by being wherever Draco was going, _before _him. Draco had taken advantage of it, of course, putting his plan to drive the Gryffindor to distraction into action with subtle flirting that could taken as innocent activities; bending over to pick something up, or brushing imaginary dust from from the hem of his school robes, and incidentally showing off his arse to the green-eyed demon spawn, stretching for a book on a high shelf in order to show off his figure, and other things in a like vein. _

_But the constant 'coincidence' of Harry being in the very place Draco had decided to go had worn on him; especially when Harry's flirting with _him _was both less subtle and more...steamy. _

_Finally, Draco couldn't take any more. But he wasn't about to show just how successful Harry's teasing had been, so he channeled all that energy into anger and annoyance. _

_Draco grabbed the lapels of Harry's robes and slammed him into the wall. Well, that had been the plan, anyway. What actually happened was that he grabbed Harry's lapels and _made the effort _to slam him into the wall. But in a swift move that Draco still couldn't reconstruct in his mind, Harry had whirled them about so that Draco was gently but firmly placed where Draco had planned on having the Gryffindor._

_But never let it be said that a Malfoy couldn't adjust to altered circumstances. "What is your bloody problem, Potter?" he hissed in the other boy's face. He had the satisfaction of seeing Harry's - _Potter's - _face looking totally nonplussed for a moment, but before he could follow up on his advantage, the green-eyed beauty - _boy _(not 'beauty' - he definitely meant 'boy') _- _had recovered._

_"Why, it's you, Draco," Harry answered, with a sexy smirk. "Your lithe form, your blond beauty, just makes my demon blood ache for you - you know; down there."_

_Draco paled, then blushed furiously. _'Lithe form? Blond beauty? When did Harry get such a glib tongue?' _he thought to himself, consciously ignoring Harry's sexually blatant 'hint'._

_While the blond was still recovering from the shock of such compliments coming from someone he had thought of as a 'dressed-up former geek', Harry leaned in, and kissed him. And it wasn't just a simple peck on the lips, either. Oh, no. It was gentle, yes, but it was also long and steamy. Draco never noticed when his knees got too weak to hold himself up, but he slowly became aware of the strong arms holding him, preventing him from sliding to the floor. _

_Harry grinned to himself. It wasn't exactly as he'd planned to get the snarky blond: indeed, until now he hadn't really admitted to himself that he wanted Draco. He'd wanted to tease the boy into submission; make the blond come to _him. _But this seemed to be working well enough. _

_He picked Draco up, maintaining the kiss all the while, and found an empty classroom. He finally broke the kiss, and with a few muttered spells, transformed a desk into a bed, some parchment into bedding, and had the bed made. He met Draco's wondering eyes and kissed him again, just to keep him off balance, then softly laid his intended mate on the bed before turning to the door and sealing it against intrusion._

-x-

When Harry had taken him, it had been both painful, and wonderful. Fortunately the pain had quickly subsided, to be replaced with the wonderful feeling of being filled, and claimed.

_'But if Harry thinks he's tamed Draco Malfoy, he has another think coming to him!'_ That resolve comforted Draco, until Harry woke and pulled him into his embrace, and Draco melted. _'Oh, damn; I'm lost,'_ was his last coherent thought for awhile.

There was a bit of an awkward scene when they'd decided they were in need of food, Harry had restored the classroom, and they had opened the door. The hallway was filled with students and an angry instructor wanting to know just what they thought they were doing, preventing classes from taking place. The usually, and newly urbane Draco and Harry blushed fiercely.

oo

Three months later, there was a bit of a scandal at the wedding.

"Can you _believe_ he had the gall to wear white?" was just one of the many whispers that went around the wedding party.

Well, it _was_ a bit of embarrassment, since Draco's trousers had to be especially altered to allow for an expanding abdomen, although it was really only _slightly_ rounded, at this point. Still, everyone tried to put the best face on it, and allowed that since it was Draco's wedding, he had the right to choose the colour palette. And when the ceremony was over, there were many who genuinely offered their congratulations. Of course there were just as many, if not more, who were just there for the notoriety of the affair, so they could later say they'd been.

But life isn't a sweet a little story, and there were still a lot of obstacles to overcome: Voldemort, Death Eaters, fans, the day to day efforts of maintaining a relationship, not to mention hormonal swings, and later, raising a child. In the on-going story of life, one can never really say...

THE END

oo

Thanks to Keikokin for her aid as a beta.

This story was meant to be about twice as long as it is. However, due to  
stress problems and too many other works in progress, I decided to wrap this one up early.  
Hopefully someday I'll get around to rewriting this chapter, and continuing the story as it was meant to be.

Chapter Four

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